We all know that black lives matter
but none of us know what it's like
to drop neck deep into the chill waters
of the English channel on a grey June
morning with the spittle of machine gun
fire slicing through brothers
before their feet can reach the sand.
None of us know the taste of
blood thickened foaming waves
bringing in our buddies.
None of us know the echoes
of troops of all colours calling out
to homes, to mothers, to wives,
to loved ones, while grabbing at the
remains of their shredded limbs
accepting that this death landing
will be their haunting ground
to hopefully touch and remind
those liberated holidaying folk
freed by their spectral confinement.